


His.

by dw_fwedewick_heweiden



Series: F Key [2]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Arson happens and thats ok, Forced Relationship, Hey google what do when two characters are Arsonist, Implied Arson, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Physical Abuse, Retributionist and Doctor are both mentioned but not very important, Sexual Abuse, hey google how tag?????, this is the worst thing ive ever written, this is town of salem if youre lucky you can get away with stabbing, when u forgot to give your characters last names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:58:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19788544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dw_fwedewick_heweiden/pseuds/dw_fwedewick_heweiden
Summary: Ashby is his. And he hates it.





	His.

Night has fallen in the town, and as people walk back to their homes, preparing to do whatever they do at night, the Jailor tracks his next target, a short, ginger-haired man named Ashby that he suspects of being an Arsonist. As the man reaches for his doorknob, the Jailor grabs him harshly, jamming the sedatives he’d convinced the mayor he needed into his target’s arm and dragging him off to jail.

And that’s where Ashby is right now. In jail. Naturally, he’s a bit miffed by this turn of events. He hadn’t been planning to do anything today, not today at least, but if he had, any plans would be ruined. Still, it can’t be that dangerous to be jailed.

_(Oh how wrong he is.)_

The clack of boots against the floor draws Ashby’s attention. He looks up at the intimidating figure standing before him, holding what appears to be a knife. “Hey,” he calls out tentatively. His voice shakes more than he’d like. “I’m-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” the Jailor interrupts. “I know what you are. It’s just a matter of proving it.”

Ashby gulps. _Shit. This isn’t going as planned._ “Sir, I-”

Within seconds, the Jailor crosses the floor between them and has a knife to Ashby’s throat. “The fuck did I just say, bitch?”

This time, he stays quiet. The knife doesn’t move from his throat. The Jailor growls, inching the knife closer to his skin. “What did I say?”

“You- you know what I am.” Ashby repeats, his voice shaky and quiet.

“That’s right. You’re the arsonist, aren’t you?” The Jailor grins at him, a cold grin that chills him to his bones.

“...yes,” Ashby admits. “I’m the arsonist.”

The Jailor removes the knife from his throat, though he doesn’t move any further away. If anything, he gets closer. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not planning on killing you right away.”

“Why not? I’ve admitted to it.”

“And it would be very fun to execute you,” the Jailor answers, the grin not leaving his face. “But you know what would be more fun?”

Ashby doesn’t answer. He drops his gaze to the floor.

“What would be more fun is making you _mine_.” The Jailor backs away. “Now here’s what I want you to do. And if you don’t do what I ask…”

The Jailor drags his finger across Ashby’s throat. A clear message.

_If you don’t do what I say you’re dead._

***

Two nights later he’s in jail again. The Jailor looks down at him, eyes gleaming. That same cold grin is plastered across his face, making him look more like a serial killer than a jailor. It unnerves him.

This time, though, the Jailor doesn’t speak. Instead, he grabs something from a rack on the wall and unties the ropes binding Ashby to the chair. _(He doesn’t untie his wrists. He doesn’t want to risk him fighting back.)_

And then he grabs the arsonist’s shirt collar and slams him against the wall as hard as he can. Ashby yelps, and immediately the Jailor covers his mouth with one hand. “Shut up.”

Ashby mumbles something unintelligible. Maybe a plea for mercy, maybe something else. The Jailor doesn’t care to know. He presses the shorter man against the wall, dragging something rough against his throat and leaving Ashby even more disoriented as he tries to figure out what the Jailor is doing.

The Jailor’s still smiling. Still smiling as he whispers the arsonist’s next assignment into his ear and leaves a cut in his arm as a reminder. Still smiling as he pushes the needle of drugs into his arm. Still smiling as he drops the man to the floor. Ashby slumps onto the floor like a rag doll, already unconscious.

The Jailor looks at him and finally drops his smile. “Maybe I should have picked one that was less fragile. Ah, well. He’ll live.”

***

The days pass and the people of Salem grow more and more panicked. Arsonist fires happen every other night nowadays, with some people being incinerated by more than one (which is to be expected in such a large town), a medusa is on the loose, and the mafia is getting more and more aggressive. Every killer they take down seems to have two more sprout in its place.

No one notices Ashby. They never do. He’s almost silent in the daytime, only piping in when he sees the Jailor looking at him. And so they pass over him, not noticing the guilt on his face, the horror when he burns an innocent.

The townspeople don’t notice a lot of things, to be honest.

He supposes it’s for the best.

***

It’s on nights like this that he wishes Reuben was still here.

On nights where the Jailor ignores him (or worse, when he’s fucked up and the Jailor punishes him for it). On nights when he can’t seem to find the will to even get up.

He just wants Reuben back.

Is that so hard?

But no one can bring back the dead. Especially not a dead arsonist.

And so he resigns himself to being lonely.

***

The Jailor presses Ashby against the wall, for quite possible the fifth time this week. Ashby doesn’t even struggle, just avoids his gaze. The Jailor grins, and then slowly moves his hand to Ashby’s thigh. The arsonist’s eyes widen and he struggles, trying to escape from his grasp, to no avail.

The Jailor moves his hand to the smaller man’s pelvis, carefully undoing the buttons with one hand. He locks eyes with Ashby.

They both know what he’s doing now.

***

The next day, Ashby is even quieter than usual, not even speaking up when the Jailor’s eyes are on him. Instead, he sticks to a small corner of the town square, between two houses. It’s not quite large enough to be called an alleyway. He sits there, drawing stick figures in the dirt with his finger and avoiding eye contact with anyone. _(He’s nursing quite a few new bruises and cuts.)_

No one notices. 

It actually kind of makes him feel worse.

***

The nights and the days blur together until he isn’t even sure of how much time has passed. It’s a never-ending cycle, and he can’t escape it. 

The Jailor smiles at him from across the town square. He tries to ignore it.

He vaguely hears someone announce a death. Some guy named Flint from a bit farther in the town. It’s the end that really catches his attention.

“Flint’s role was Arsonist.”

 _Another one?_ he wonders. _Wonder how he died._

He doesn’t see the retributionist’s determined face across the square. He doesn’t see the warning glance that one of the doctors gives said retributionist. Why would he? He’s not a part of that conversation.

But it’s kind of hard not to notice when Flint is alive the next day.

And he has to admit, that sparks more than a little hope in his heart.

***

The Jailor is dead.

As the cause of death is called out (incinerated by an Arsonist), Ashby looks at the body. The Jailor looks so small on the ground. Then again, maybe it’s just the burning.

Ashby doesn’t know which one of them it was. It wasn’t him who doused the Jailor. _(He could never.)_ And he doubted that the quiet guy in the corner _(the one with the gas mask that covered half his face)_ would. And of course Firebug hadn’t, they hadn’t remembered yet.

Which left Flint.

What reason did Flint have to ignite the Jailor, though?

Ashby doesn’t know.

And he doesn’t really care to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> wow i hate myself for writing this


End file.
